


The Lights We Chase

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Vi är bäst! | We Are the Best! (2013)
Genre: Coming Out, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four important nights in Bobo's life, five years on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lights We Chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginalia/gifts).



> Thanks to Ro (littlerhymes) for beta-reading :)

A cold Friday evening, freezing in the bus. Bobo settles into her seat, one eye on Klara beside her who’s already in a foul mood, the other on the four kids in the backseat from the baby band who’ve also been using the practice rooms lately. They’re wide-eyed and noisy as they pull away from the front of the youth centre for the next town where the Battle of the Bands is being held, excited and on edge on their first trip away. One kid’s nervously strumming a random stream of chords on his guitar; there's something off about it that bothers Bobo but she can't quite put her finger on why. 

“God, I wish they’d just shut up,” Klara mutters, slumping down further in her seat, head against the window, huddled into a leather coat that’s clearly too large for her. 

Bobo eyes it and asks, “Mattias?”

Klara glares at her and draws her fists into the sleeves. “So what if we broke up?” she says. “It’s warm, okay?” She closes her eyes and thumps her head against the back of the seat when the baby band’s drummer joins in, a rhythmic tapping against the window. “Fuck!”

“They’re the same age as when we started,” Hedvig says mildly, leaning over the back of her seat to look back at them both. She raises her voice a fraction and says, “Fredrik, you’re a semitone flat.”

“We were never that young,” Klara says grouchily, eyes still closed. “And it’s not going to make a difference to how they sound anyway.” 

“Yeah, we were never that bad,” Bobo jokes, and Hedvig laughs, even as Klara just buries deeper into her cocoon and sulks herself to sleep. Just another one of those weeks, then; but Bobo can’t help but brood on it through the rest of the journey through the snow. 

They’re on early in the night, which is good because Bobo doesn’t have enough time to get really nervous, to worry about how they sound or if this crowd is going to care for them. There’s a mix of kids here tonight, a mix of music and bands; right after their fast, loud, short set is a fair, willowy boy who sings sleepy, dusky folk songs like an angel, his eyes closed the whole time, fingers clutched tight around the microphone stand. 

They don’t really get a great reaction for their set, but Klara’s having fun anyway, coming alive from the moment she gets on stage. And when the fourth band after them plays an awkwardly scathing dissection of modern capitalist society in a 30-second song, Klara blinks up at the lead singer and makes sure to grab him the moment he comes off the stage and into the crowd.

Bobo snorts as she watches and wonders what this one’s called, how long this one will last, what he’ll leave behind.

Hedvig keeps her company on the sidelines, nursing warm Cokes. Bobo nods her head in time with the beat; Hedvig studies the playing of the guitarists from the other bands, eyes glued to their fingers on the fretboards. So they’re both surprised when the folksong angel comes up and shyly pulls Hedvig onto the dancefloor; then Bobo’s alone, smiling as Hedvig shuffles in place and makes panicked eyes at her from across the crowd. 

“Not your scene?” says a quiet voice in her ear as baby band (they have a real name, but Bobo can never remember it since Klara started calling them Iron Fist 2.0) starts setting up on stage. Bobo starts and turns to the speaker - freckles, dark blonde hair to just below her shoulders, a black t-shirt and jeans, a flannel shirt tied loosely around her hips. She smiles, her eyes crinkling up at the corners, and when Bobo leans in closer she repeats the question. 

Bobo opens her mouth to reply, but then there’s a horrendous squeal of feedback from the stage and she winces, looking over just in time to see Fredrik launch into the first crashing chords of their song while the bassist is still rooting around on the floor with a mess of cords, trying to fix the problem. It does not get better from there. As predicted, they’re terrible (and still flat); but at least they don’t start a riot. 

Throughout their mercifully short set, Bobo’s very aware of the girl still standing next to her, shoulder to shoulder. When the music finally stops, she musters up the courage to turn and say, “Hi, yeah, sorry about before. I’m Bobo.” 

“Friends of yours?” the girl asks, raising an eyebrow at where baby band are fleeing the scene, looking crestfallen as Hedvig pats them on the back and says something that will unfortunately give them to strength to carry on.

“What? No! I mean, like, they’re - yeah,” Bobo falters, then gives up, shrugging. 

But the other girl just laughs sweetly, and leans against the wall beside her. “Don’t worry, I saw your band play before, you guys were great, no judgement by association. I’m Ingrid,” she says, nudging Bobo with her elbow, friendly still. 

“Thanks,” Bobo says, a million words rushing through her head and nothing coming to voice. “I - uh - are you in a band too?”

Ingrid laughs. “No, I wish! I just came to support some friends. Didn’t expect to have a good time, so. You’ve saved me from that.” She smiles up at Bobo through her fringe with clear, dark eyes, and Bobo’s heart starts thumping away the way it does when she meets someone who’s just attractive enough to get her hopes up. 

But Ingrid doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “Wanna dance?” she says. Behind her, Bobo can see Klara wrapped around her latest conquest, eyes closed, moving sinuously as if the music is flowing through her. 

“Sure,” she says, as the next song starts blaring out over the sound system, and when Ingrid grabs her hand Bobo follows her willingly onto the darkened floor.

* * *

A weeknight at Hedvig’s, actually doing homework as Hedvig studies hard for the entrance exams for university. It’s not like being at home - eerily quiet as she waits for her mother to come home, waiting to see if she’s giddy or saddened by her latest paramour; it’s not like being at Klara’s, all noise and chaos and arguments and love. But Bobo will put up with the disapproving glances Hedvig’s mother still gives them, for a proper home cooked meal and some company, any simulacrum of family.

This week, as with the last few weeks, it’s just Bobo and Hedvig; Klara and Daniel, the boy from the Battle of the Bands a few months prior, are surprisingly still a thing. When Hedvig asks if she wants to stay over, Bobo accepts gladly. 

Long after the lights are out, Bobo lies there staring at the ceiling, all fuzzy with her glasses off, unable to quiet the buzzing in her head. She says quietly, “Hedvig? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” comes the soft answer. “Come up here.” 

In the dim dark, Bobo sees the movement of Hedvig’s hand, the sound of her patting the pillow beside her. Bobo stumbles as she switches ends until her head’s next to Hedvig’s. After that disastrous haircut, she let it grow out a little in deference to her mother, until it curled around her ears in a soft bob. A stray strand tickles Bobo’s neck now before she brushes it away, and shifts closer to Hedvig’s side. 

“Can’t sleep?” Hedvig asks gently. When Bobo nods, she adds, “What’s wrong?” 

Bobo gnaws at her bottom lip, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. “I - is there something you’re really worried about?” she asks instead. 

Hedvig is silent for a while, but Bobo knows it means she’s thinking. “I guess I’m worried about the exams,” she says slowly. “And maybe it’s premature, and silly, but I’m a bit scared too about getting into university. I might have to move.”

“I can solve your problem,” Bobo says. “Fail and repeat the year. Then you won’t have to go and you can stick with me and Klara here.” 

Hedvig laughs softly, and says fondly, “You’re not even joking, are you?” She reaches out across the blanket and holds Bobo’s hands in hers. “So what’s worrying you?”

“I made a new friend,” she says finally, “You know, at that thing where Klara met Daniel.”

“I remember,” Hedvig says. “Ingrid?”

“Yeah,” Bobo says weakly. “You have a good memory.”

Her tongue feels thick in her mouth, but she pushes on. “So some afternoons I catch the bus to where she lives and we’ve been meeting up. For coffee. She - she’s really nice.” Then she adds in a rush, “Sometimes we hold hands and uh, we might’ve kissed yesterday, and. Yeah.”

She trails off, holding her breath in the dark, ready for the worst.

She doesn’t know why she still underestimates Hedvig, after all this time.

“Does she make you happy?” Hedvig says. “You’re worried, but - it’s not her you’re worried about, right?”

“No, she’s great,” Bobo says. “I really like her.”

Over the blanket, Hedvig is squeezing her hand. “Then I’m really happy for you!” 

“But do you think - I mean - don’t you think it’s wrong? Aren’t you - supposed to hate me?” Bobo voice drops to a whisper, barely heard into the gap between their heads. 

Hedvig turns on her side to face Bobo, eyes now open wide. “Of course not!” She squeezes Bobo’s hand even harder, and says fiercely, “I would never.” 

Bobo lets out that breath finally, feels her chest loosen a little, and tries not to cry though the tears prickle in the corner of her eyes, in relief. 

“You love who you love,” Hedvig says. She pauses, then she says in a smaller voice, “Is that why you’ve been so worried? About telling me?”

“Not just you,” Bobo hedges.

Hedvig looks sad for a moment as she says, “Your mum?”

Bobo wrinkles her nose. “Mum has gay friends, she wouldn’t mind. If she ever even noticed,” she says a little bitterly. 

Hedvig sighs. “Klara?”

Bobo doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she shrugs, and tries to say as lightly as possible, “She’s just been a bit pre-occupied lately. Haven’t had the chance to say anything to her.” 

But maybe the bitterness comes through in her voice there too, because Hedvig squeezes her hand again, and in that moment Bobo really feels the Klara-shaped hole in the bed.

* * *

A Saturday night after school’s out for the year, at a party she’d normally hate. But tonight Ingrid is here and everything seems brighter, better. Bobo sits side by side with her on the couch, holding hands in the gap between their legs, unseen. She’s smiling as Ingrid nuzzles her neck pretending to whisper in her ear, and that’s when Klara comes into the room, Daniel in tow. No one else has noticed anything, but as soon as Klara sees them she walks up and says crossly, “I’m your fucking best friend. So when were you going to tell me? Never?”

Bobo rolls her eyes and untangles her fingers from Ingrid’s. 

“Hi to you too,” she says. “Don’t have a meltdown here in front of everyone - let’s, we’ll talk about it now, okay.” She grabs Klara by the wrist and draws her upstairs, into the first empty bedroom.

As soon as the door’s closed, Klara’s off and running. “Why did you keep it from me?” she yells. “Did you think I’d have a problem with it? Me, of all people!” 

“I haven’t been keeping it from you! I would’ve told you if you’d just been around at some point in the last month,” Bobo says, furious. 

“I would have if you’d told me there was something important you needed to tell me,” Klara says, pacing in front of the door. 

“I shouldn’t have had to tell you, why couldn’t you just be there? Isn’t that what best friends do?” Bobo says. She can feel the tears welling up behind her eyes, and she rubs her eyes until they’re sore, trying to keep them from falling.

“Whatever, I bet you told Hedvig though.” 

“Don’t start,” Bobo says. “I did, because she was there when I needed somebody to talk to. When I - _we_ \- needed you. Do you even know that how freaked out she’s been about university? She’ll be gone in less than two months.”

Klara stops abruptly. “What?”

“She got in. Uppsala.”

Klara sits down abruptly. “But she can’t leave,” she says, in a dazed voice.

“That’s what I told her,” Bobo says. 

Klara crawls on hands and knees to sit beside her, their backs against the side of the bed. “What are we going to do without her?” She sounds as lost as Bobo feels, and it feels right in that moment to lean over, head on her shoulder. Klara’s hand comes up to cradle her chin.

“That’s why we have to stick together,” Bobo says. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?” 

Klara sighs. “I’m not mad, I just - you know how I get,” she says. “I saw you there with her and I just - I knew I’d missed something important for you. Maybe I am a little mad - at myself though.” A pause, then in a quiet voice, she adds, “Forgive me?”

“Always,” Bobo reassures her. 

They sit there in comfortable silence for a little while, then Bobo says slyly, “So, I see you’ve managed to keep this one _and_ his jacket.” 

Klara rolls her eyes and says, “Danne’s...alright. I’m not done with him yet. So...that’s your girlfriend?”

Bobo can’t help it, the heady rush she still gets on hearing those words, and it must show in her face, a face that Klara knows so well because she just sighs and says, “Oh, Bobo. You have it baaaaad.”

Bobo dips her head, cheeks flushing red. She nudges Klara with her elbow and Klara returns the gesture, as a comfortable silence settles over them. 

Then Klara bumps her shoulder against Bobo to get her to look back up at her, before and says, “So, a girl.” She hesitates as a few emotions flit across her face, then she says in a rush, “Have you ever, like.”

Bobo looks at her, puzzled. 

“What?” she says.

Klara raises her eyebrow and sweeps a hand along her front. “You know, have you thought about it.” 

“About what?” Bobo says, bemused. “You have to finish the question before I can answer it.”

“About me, you idiot,” she says. “Like that.”

“Like what - oh. Oh! Ew, no,” Bobo says, horrified. “You and Hedvig are like my family.”

“That’s like what you used to say about Linus and look how that turned out,” Klara says darkly, but she means nothing by it. “C’mon, not even a little? Turns out I grew up cute even without trying.”

Bobo punches her lightly in the arm, and says, “I’m never going to give you the satisfaction of saying that out loud.”

“Hah, but you have thought it, right? Right?” 

Bobo shakes her head, but she laughs, and Klara grins at her, eyes alive, and hugs her impulsively.

“Well, I love you, even if you don’t love me,” Klara says into her shoulder. 

“Are you still sulking about that?” Bobo says, exasperated, and starts to pull away. 

But Klara just hugs her tighter and says, “Shut up and just enjoy the sappy moment, okay?” 

So Bobo buries her face in Klara’s neck and does just that, feeling lighter than she has in a long time.

* * *

Another Friday night, one last performance with the band a day before Hedvig goes away. It’s a local event, hosted by the youth centre, and there’s something bittersweet in ending where they began.

“It’s _not_ an ending,” Klara says vehemently when Bobo brings it up. “We’re just going on hiatus, that’s all.” She’s just about moving from denial into anger at this point, so Bobo doesn’t argue. 

Things have been better in the last few weeks. They started having regular rehearsals again in the lead-up to the event; practising, and sometimes writing, but mostly mucking around, just the three of them. Freed from the stresses of the past few months, it was as if five years hadn’t passed and they were 13 and 14 again, bashing out _Hate the Sport!_ again for the first time. 

So it’s kind of fitting that their set for the event is just as shambolic and chaotic as always. Someone decides to start heckling them halfway through a new song ( _Who Needs University?_ , which Hedvig plays with a half-smile). Klara’s already spoiling for a fight so she’s launched herself into the crowd before they can stop her, and then half the crowd joins in the ensuing melee. Then they lose more precious minutes when Bobo loses her sticks - not once, but twice - during the same song. While she scrambles around on the floor picking them up, Klara goes on a tear about the proven dangers of nuclear power and the slow destruction of the planet; partly to buy time, partly just because. So all in all, another good gig. 

Later in the night, standing by the wall watching Hedvig blushingly talk with at least three admirers, while Klara and Danne have their umpteenth fight of the week in the corner, Bobo’s startled by a quiet voice by her side. 

“So this is more your scene,” Ingrid says with a smile.

“Yeah. Or it was,” Bobo says with a sigh. 

“Don’t be sad, Klara’s right you know, it’s not an end,” Ingrid says. “But in the interest of cheering you up, wanna come with me?” She leads Bobo out the door of the hall until they find a quiet spot behind a conveniently tall stack of chairs in a quiet corridor of the youth centre, hidden from view. 

“How will you make me feel better?” Bobo says, grinning. 

Ingrid grins back, bracketing Bobo with her arms, leaning in for a kiss. They’ve barely done more than this up to now, Bobo often feeling too nervous to even know where to put her hands except in her own lap or against her sides. But tonight she’s feeling particularly bold, curling her fingers around the bottom of Ingrid’s top, knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her stomach every so often. They make out for what feels like hours, soft and gentle and warm, until the lights start flickering above them.

“I know you’re down there,” Roger yells from the doorway. “I don’t care what you’re doing, I just want you to just take it somewhere else, okay? Some of us have better things to do than mind horny teens over the weekend.” 

Bobo links her fingers with Ingrid’s and laughs. It’s a lie, because after all these years Roger is still here at the youth centre. But Bobo’s always had a soft spot for him, because if he hadn’t stood up for them to have the music room, there might never have been a band. 

“I should go,” Ingrid says regretfully, checking her watch. “Or I’ll miss the bus home.” 

“Or, you could miss the bus and come home with us,” Bobo says.

“You know you want to spend time with Klara and Hedvig tonight,” Ingrid says. “And speak of the devil, here they come.”

“Yeah, I know, I do,” Bobo says, reluctantly untangling their fingers. “Thanks for understanding.” 

Ingrid smiles and brushes one last kiss against Bobo’s lips, as Klara wolf whistles at them from behind. Ingrid giggles and says hi and bye to them in the same breath, waving as she makes a dash for the bus pulling in across the square.

“C’mon, stop looking forlorn and let’s see if we can get back before your mum’s friends have drunk all the wine,” Klara says, pushing Bob in the opposite direction towards home. 

“I already stashed a bottle under my bed, just in case,” Bobo tells her, and Hedvig shakes her head and says in mock despair, “Who is going to make sure you two behave while I’m away?”

They wake up too early the next morning, just the three of them, sore-headed and on the floor in Bobo’s room. They’d talked long into the night, as outside the door the noise of another of her mother’s parties had filtered through long into the wee hours. Now, in the pale pink dawn light, there’s a blessed silence. 

Klara reaches out and grabs hold ofHedvig’s right hand. “Promise me you’ll remember to write songs and send them to us so we can practise while you’re away,” she says.

“Uh, promise you’ll write to _us_ ,” Bobo says, grabbing Hedvig’s left hand. 

“Every week,” Hedvig promises. “And I’ll be back for the holidays, you’ll barely have time to miss me.”

Bobo feels the tears in the corners of her eyes again, and she blinks a few times, squeezing Hedvig’s hand.

“Who said anything about missing you?” Klara says grumpily, but she rolls towards Hedvig so she’s facing Bobo as she says it, and Bobo can see the same watery glimmer in her eyes. 

“Well, I will,” Hedvig says, “Even if you two heartless children don’t.” She kisses each of them on their heads in turn. “I’ll be back,” she repeats.“Where else where I would find such best friends?”

“Well, we are the best,” Bobo says solemnly, and Klara laughs, hiccupping back a sob, and they start chanting it softly in the echo of all those years ago; and in that moment everything is perfect, everything will be fine.


End file.
